


Seduction

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [14]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Of all the things the team would have expected Carter to ask about, the mechanics of carrying out a seduction surely wasn't one of them!  Still, a little advice from four men-of-the-world surely wouldn't do the naive young man any harm, not as long as they were careful to keep it simple.  After all, this was Andrew you were dealing with!  Although the rest of the guys were planning to sit back and enjoy listening to whatever Newkirk, their brash self-proclaimed ladies' man, might have to say on the subject!





	Seduction

"Carter, earth to Carter! You with us here? You okay?" Kinch asked the young brown haired man sitting in his bunk, leaning his back against the wall, a distracted, maybe a bit troubled frown on his slightly narrow face. The brown eyes blinked rapidly and focused on Kinch and the others at the long table staring at him.

"Oh, hi guys. When'd you all get back?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes, "about 'alf an 'our ago, Andrew. Remember, you said, "welcome back, guys. Did everything go alright?" And we said, "Yes, Andrew, went fine, it did."

"Oh, yeah, well, welcome back," Andrew J Carter said vaguely, then just tuned them out again. He was working on a problem; he'd hoped to be able to figure it out himself, but he wasn't having a lot of success, and he just might have to break down and ask the guys for help. They were all smart and while they might not agree on everything, they were all older, pretty much men of the world, though different parts of the world; maybe between all three of them, they might be able to come up with something to help.

If Caeide was here, he'd ask her; she was really smart too. And she would understand his problem, he knew that, just like he knew she understood HIM, and would agree this was necessary and would want to help. But she wasn't here, and sending letters back and forth would take too long, not that he felt comfortable explaining his problem in a letter anyway. Oh, gosh no! He fought a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought of some poor censor reading his letter OR hers, with them discussing THAT!

Well, he knew he couldn't just let things stay the way they were, so he had to do something. This was important; he was sure of that! He'd decided on what was needed. Just, he didn't know a lot, well, really much of anything about, and he actually blushed at the word, seduction. And that's what was called for, that much he was sure of. Well, pretty sure, anyway. The vision in his head wasn't going away, and it strengthened his resolve.

He said it to himself again, more firmly this time, {"seduction"}, with a determined nod of his head.

"What is going on with him? He did not eat at dinner, he keeps staring off into nowhere, and he isn't talking. That is not our Andrew!" Louie said with a worried look on his face.

"Well, maybe if you'd fix something that wasn't French, 'e'd be able to force it down easier, you know, Louie," drawled the rangy Englishman, who had somehow managed to force HIS portion down, complaining all the while of course. Well, they each had their appointed roles in the process; Louie told them what he was making; Peter complained about it being French and went out and somehow got whatever ingredients Louie said he needed; Louie prepared the meal; Peter complained about it being French, and devoured it ravenously. That's just the way things worked; everyone knew that.

But Newkirk gave a worried glance over to the bunk where his young friend sat. {"No, something's bothering 'im, thats for certain! When our Andrew stops talking, 'e's got a problem. Usually can't stop 'im from nattering on and on about whatever comes to 'is mind, and some very strange things indeed DO come to 'is mind!"} remembering some VERY odd conversations, ones that had left Newkirk with his mind feeling rather like it had been caught in a blender. Andrew just had that effect on him.

Hogan just let them go on; he had an idea of what was up with Carter, but thought it best to let the young man work it out himself, or at least, wait til he brought it up himself. The more than slightly clumsy Carter came in for enough teasing as it was; no sense in starting a new avenue for the guys to pursue. If Carter didn't regain his focus, or what passed for his focus, soon, Hogan would have to have a word with him; every member of the team had to be on the top of their game; it was just too dangerous otherwise, with the kind of jobs they pulled off. Still, he thought that little blonde waitress at the Hauserhof held the key to Carter's inattention. They'd met when Carter was pretending to be a German junior officer, and had seemed to like each other, well, as much as you could with only talking to each other off and on for an hour or so. Still, Hogan had never had it take HIM even a quarter of that time, but then, Carter was a bit, well slow where girls were concerned, and more than a bit naive and chatty and clumsy.

Hogan shrugged his shoulders; you had to take your explosives experts as you found them, them not being so easy to come by, and Carter also did a great impression of a puffed up German officer, which came in handy more often than you might think.Every one of his team had their good points, their drawbacks. Kinch, well, he was a really good radio man, reliable, very competent, steady, and he did a good Burkhaulter voice, but it wasn't like they could use him for much outside the tunnels, and Hogan had to keep reminding him to keep his cool and not let the petty comments from some of the other prisoners over him being black get to him, not let that cause problems. LeBeau, his cooking helped a lot with bribing Schultz and getting access to Klink's entertaining; his size helped with getting into small spaces; his claustrophobia created problems since he couldn't seem to overcome it enough to do some of the jobs Hogan felt were necessary, and his emotionalism sometimes was a drawback, along with his most annoying and totally inexplicable passion for the Russian woman, Marya.

Newkirk, well his magic fingers were one of the linchpins to this operation, what with pickpocketing and safecracking and forging and tailoring, as well as his impressions, although those fingers were becoming less reliable. Hogan frowned in thought, {"if he'd just take more care with them, I know they'd do better; he has to understand how much we rely on them! He can't just let them go south!"} dismissing Newkirk's claims that it was the conditions in the camp, the cold, the food, what he'd put his hands through on the missions and abuse from the guards and the Gestapo, that was causing the problem. No one else seemed to be having that same problem with their hands. Newkirk groused too much, of course, and was more of a pessimist than Hogan thought necessary, and insisted on reading those letters from that woman with the sheep out loud, as well as telling stories about her.

However, Newkirk had other assets, and at the thought of those assets, Hogan gave a smug grin, followed by a slight grimace. {"Of course, sometimes he's more of a 'delicate flower' than I'd like! And that makes no sense; we're in the middle of a prisoner of war camp, hell, in the middle of a war; just what does he expect, candy and flowers and moonlight serenades??!"} thinking on a few recent episodes where Newkirk had been more than a little reluctant, rebellious even, then sullen and withdrawn afterwards.

In fact, they'd lucked out there; a couple of those times Carter came a bit too close to walking in on them, and wouldn't that have been a mess, especially with Newkirk being so defiant and Hogan having to deal with that rather firmly! Hogan snorted, thinking of innocent, naive Andrew Carter's likely reaction! Well, you had to maintain discipline to keep a unit running right, and Hogan had a job to do. He wasn't going to take rebellion in his team, not from any of them, not in any form, not at any time.

His theory was proven right, it seems, when Carter approached the guys ever so casually during one of their interminable gin games, so casually they just KNEW something was up. He meandered around a bit, then, "uh, does anyone know anything about, uh, 'seduction'?" and everyone froze, jaws dropping. Newkirk was pretty well stunned, {"you know, somehow that's not a question I'd 'ave expected to come from our Andrew!!"} The young man hurried to explain, "I mean, the best way to, well, maybe get real close to someone you really, really like?" Carter flushed deeply.

"You mean like a girl, Andrew?" came from Newkirk, teasingly with a grin. "And I must ask, just where did you meet said girl in the first place? And why didn't you introduce 'er to your mates, eh? And does she 'ave any likely friends?"

Of course, Newkirk knew just how shy Andrew was around women; he also knew Andrew hadn't been too many places to MEET women, so he figured it had to be that last mission the younger man had been on with Hogan, and that had been to Hammelburg. Newkirk prided himself on knowing, to some extent or other, most every available bird in town, and a few even NOT so available ones. He thought down the list of possibilities, {"Karla, at the beer 'all? Nah, she's only in it for the top officers, and Andrew wasn't playing one of them, not that night. Lissa, at the grocer? Now, there's a looker! Towers over our Andrew by a good ten inches, she does, though; now I can't see that 'appening,"} he thought to himself with a snicker. He continued with his musing til he thought maybe he had it. {"Berta, at the Hauserhauf? Pretty little bird, those blonde curls and big blue eyes and all. Seems kinda shy, might be a decent fit for Andrew."} He had a bit of a frown on his face at the thought, {"don't want the clumsy twit gettin 'urt; not after that bloody Dear John letter from 'is silly little Mary Jane, or Mary Ellen, Mary Penelope, or whatever the disloyal little. . . chit's. . . name was!"}

He looked up to see everyone staring; obviously his checking out of the conversation had been noted with some surprise by sundry and all, especially since the topic was women, one of the many topics he was a self-proclaimed expert on.

"So, Peter, what do you think, huh?" Andrew asked anxiously.

<>p>"About what, Andrew?" trying for resigned patience, since trying to pretend he knew just where the conversation had been or was headed was out of the question; not even HE was THAT good.

"Well, Kinch says flowers are always nice. And Louie says taking her out to dinner, maybe with candles and wine and all. And the Colonel says flattering her, telling her she's really pretty, and you've never met anyone like her before, or ever cared for anyone like you do for her, and promising her all kinds a stuff, being firm and confident, taking charge, that always works."

Newkirk looked at that eager, anxious face, and, out of character for him, let his better angel take over. He figured it was probably about time; the poor thing had just been sitting there, bored, pouting for ever so long, kicking his heels, while that sneaky little guy on the OTHER shoulder, the one with that smirk and the horns, had been getting all the action.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, trying to buy some time while he figured out what to say and how to say it, considering this was Andrew and all.

"Well, Andrew, flattering 'er might work, but it all kinda depends on if this is someone important to you, or just a tart you're trying to pick up for a quick toss. This someone you really might care about, Andrew, or just a bit of fancy?" He ignored the red flush that came to Andrew's face, and the amused look his team mates were sharing. {"Advice on romance from Peter Newkirk! Yeah, this should be something,"} Kinch thought to himself, and sat back ready to be amused. LeBeau just rolled his eyes, and muttered, "like the English know anything about l'amour!"

"Oh, someone I care about, really, a whole lot!" came the wide-eyed, sincere answer.

"Then you gotta be careful what you do and say, 'ow you treat 'er, mate."

"You mean, while we're having a drink with her friends, I can't just say I really like how she fills out that blue dress, or that when she bent over, I saw the top of her garters and that really made me feel funny all over??"

No one saw the wicked grin on Andrew's face, or the amused look in his brown eyes, him leaning back into the shadows like he was, could only hear the usual very earnest, almost childlike voice. LeBeau groaned loudly, and Kinch suppressed a laugh.

"Andrew! You don't say things like that to a bird, especially in front of other people! You'd just upset 'er, if she's a nice girl. You can say things that MEAN that, maybe, just not that rough, but in PRIVATE, not out in the open, silly twit! Maybe 'ow the color of the dress brings out the blue in 'er eyes, or 'ow seeing 'er makes you just smile inside, something like that, that would be good."

Newkirk shook his head, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another. {"Advice for the Lovelorn, me new career!"} he rebuked himself silently for ever getting back into this conversation. His good angel thumped him upside the head, telling him to get back in there and do a right good job of it too! and he barely refrained from visibly wincing. He wasn't sure if that good angel was named Maude or Marisol, but he figured it was one or the other! That thump had felt awfully familiar.

Newkirk sighed and set out to explain, "see, if she's just a tart, and you're SURE of that, and you're both just looking for a bit of fun, tit for tat, so ta speak, you can say pretty much as you like; yeah, flatter 'er, lie to 'er, promise 'er whatever - see, she ain't gonna believe you anyway, not if she's 'alfway smart, and they mostly are, well, 'ave to be to survive in that line, you know; she's gonna know it's all just part of the game and not take you serious. And you don't want to go believing what SHE says either; she's playing the game right back; if she's NOT, then she's not a tart and you 'ave a whole different problem, and you need to stop right there til you figure out what's really going on. One playing the game, the other being serious, that's a disaster in the making, mate, whether it's you or 'er!"

He didn't look over at Hogan, who'd given that sterling advice about flattery and all. His cautions to Carter were already out of his mouth before he realized exactly what that advice said about Hogan and his relationships, and maybe what his own response had said, too. Oh, well, it was too late to stop now, and this was for Andrew, after all.

"But if she's someone special, you don't want to be lying to 'er, and if you're gonna flatter 'er, do it in private, or else do it real careful like; you want to please 'er, not embarrass 'er, and with birds, it's kinda 'ard sometimes telling what will or won't embarrass them. And if you're gonna give compliments, make sure they're real ones, not something made up. She'll know if you're praising what aint there, so don't do that; makes you look like you're trying to put one over, you know. Try not to promise what you can't or don't intend to deliver; no good comes outta that, not if she means something to you."

There were some odd looks passing around the room; this wasn't what they'd been expecting from their Brit.

"Treat 'er nice, don't be grabby, don't push too 'ard; she lets you know she needs you to back off a bit, you just do that, right then! And THAT part goes for whether she's someone real important to you OR a tart! Aint right otherwise." He didn't know where that last came from; almost like he was talking to someone else, wasn't like Andrew was the pushy, grabby sort to begin with. Still, it seemed the right thing to say, to make clear somehow.

"Flowers? Well, that's always a good move; women mostly like that; stay away from anything big and flashy, though, no dozen roses or anything posh like that. Let's face it, you're not a flashy kinda guy, Andrew, and it'd just look off. Stick with something simple; simple and sincere; for you, that's the ticket! If that ain't good enough for 'er, she ain't the right one for you anyways."

He still wasn't sure he wanted to be telling Andrew how to seduce this bird, Marta or whoever she was, but that eager face looking at him, he had a rough time resisting that look of appeal. Those puppy dog eyes had had him from the minute Andrew Carter had landed in this hell-hole, much to his own bewildered annoyance, seemed to be able to get him involved in the most improbable escapades and unbelievable conversations, led him to appoint himself, unofficially of course, the younger man's defender. {"Coo, someone 'ad to do it! Silly twit aint safe to be left wandering around on 'is own!"}

Kinch and LeBeau were now exchanging glances, those also more than a little bewildered. They hadn't expected Newkirk to take Carter's question all this seriously, and frankly, he was making a lot of good sense, showing a lot of, well, sensitivity, which wasn't a word they would have associated with the brash and impudent Englishman. Hogan was just looking more and more amused. 

"A nice dinner, with candles and all? Sure, add a bit of wine if you 'ave the ready, but don't drink too much. You'll find it a disappointment if you do, and 'er too; no, just take me at my word, Andrew! You need to keep your 'ead about you, not let the wine do your talking or your listening for you. Try and find out more about 'er, and not just if she has a flat close by and lives alone! Find out what she likes, likes to read or music she likes to listen to, 'er favorite color, what she likes to do in 'er off times; tell 'er something about you too. Acourse, you gotta be careful not to let anything slip that'd be a danger to the operation, but you also gotta be sure it's 'ER you're wanting to be with, not just ANY available bird, and you wanta be sure it's YOU SHE'S wanting to be with, not just some guy who bot 'er a nice dinner."

The looks now were downright incredulous; LeBeau was beginning to wonder who this man in the faded RAF uniform was and what he'd done with Pierre! 

"And then what? After dinner, I mean?" Andrew's eyes were huge, taking in all the tall Englishman was saying.

"Well, a kiss, when you say goodnight. Nothing rough, mind you, sweet and soft and tender-like, Andrew. Remember, she's not a bit o play; she's someone important to you; you need to let 'er know that; YOU need to REMEMBER that, then and later. And don't try for anything more, not that first night! Just a goodnight kiss, something that'll let 'er be thinking nice things about you when she falls asleep, and when she wakes up later."

Andrew was glowing now, thinking gleefully, {"I can do this; I'm not sure HOW yet, or WHEN, but I can do this! WOW!"} He sighed heavily, with a huge smile of anticipation and got up and settled back into his bunk, effectively exiting the conversation. The other men were still looking at Newkirk like he'd grown a second head.

"You know, Pete, sometimes you amaze me," Kinch said, chuckling in amusement, while LeBeau was trying to hide just how impressed he was with the 'unromantic Englishman'.

Newkirk flushed, and said in a low voice, "well, what'd ya think I was gonna tell 'im? This is Andrew we're talking about, not the Gov! Not that the Gov needs any bleedin advice from me about birds anyhow!" And they all laughed together at the truth of that statement, including Hogan, who was laughing at that, and at the sheer nonsense of all that advice, {"yeah, that'd do the trick alright - tender, simple, sweet, sincere!"} and made a sound halfway between another laugh and a snort of disgust. {"Can just imagine how far THAT would get you! And how long it would take to GET there!"}

He'd thought the questions were over; that is, until Andrew caught up with him in his tailoring shop while he was altering some greatcoats for their next mission.

"Peter, one more thing . . ." Andrew flushed and looked down at the tunnel floor. Newkirk sighed a very long-suffering type of a sigh, "yes, Andrew? Just what might that one thing be?" With Andrew, it seemed there was always 'just one more thing'.

"Well, that goodnight kiss. I know what you said, sweet and soft and tender. Just, I've not done too much kissing, well, hardly any, uh, really, just that one time and it didn't go too good with her braces slipping and me bleeding and all.

Andrew kept his face turned toward the floor, his eyes downcast. Newkirk, picturing that all-too-Andrew scene in his mind, refrained from groaning out loud, or snickering, though, mind you, it wasn't easy.

"Well, what's the question, Andrew?"

"Not so much a question. Just, I've seen the Colonel do HIS kissing, lots, but that just didn't seem to be what you were describing. HIS is more, well . . ."

"Yes, Andrew, it certainly is, and that is NOT what you should be doing as your first goodnight kiss!"

\He looked at the totally bewildered young man in front of him now looking at him helplessly and yet hopefully, and let out an exasperated groan. "Oh bloody 'ell, Andrew! . . . Come 'ere!" hoping with all his might that no one walked in right now. Somehow he didn't believe anyone would believe his explanation "Well, see, Andrew was a bit curious about kisses and so . . . No." - "So, Andrew wasn't sure about the right kind of kisses to be giving and so . . . Uh, No." - "Actually, Andrew needed a bit of a demo on just 'ow to kiss this girl 'e's met . . .". {"No, better just 'ope no one walks in!"}

Andrew was right in front of him now, looking up with those big brown trusting eyes. Peter took a deep breath, moved very close, and said, "like this, very light and soft and . . ." and without touching him otherwise, leaned over and gave the sweetest, softest, most tender kiss he could manage, making it last just the right amount of time, and then drawing back. If his breathing had gone a bit off, well, he put that down to the sheer aggravation of having to demonstrate THIS, and the worry about being seen. {"Bloody well 'ope 'e don't expect me to demonstrate what 'e's to do a few dates down the road! Course, knowing Andrew, bloody war will probably be over long before 'e gets to that point,"} he thought, with some amused relief.

Andrew just stood there, fingers to his lips, his eyes wide with wonder, "oh. . . oh, yeah!" His eyes sparkled and his expression became lively once more. "I can do that! Thanks, Peter. Thanks a whole bunch!" He hurried back down the tunnel, leaving Peter standing there like he'd been hit with a sandbag.

Kinch made his way over from the radio room. He wondered if there'd been a problem; Peter looked a bit, well, bewildered, not quite the usual for the sardonic Englishman. "Everything okay? Just saw Andrew shoot up those steps like he was shot out of a canon."

Peter shook himself, like he'd just come in out of the rain, "Yeah, Andrew just 'ad another question. 'ope it's the last; never set out to be a bloody advice columnist, Kinch."

Kinch gave a soft chuckle, "actually, you did pretty good, Pete. Better than what the Colonel was telling him. I mean, that stuff might work just fine for him, but for Andrew??? All that 'take charge' stuff? Andrew???" They chuckled together and went their separate ways. Peter would remember those words, a couple of years down the road.

Andrew lay in his bunk that night grinning to himself. {"that was a lot easier than I thought it would be. And I got some really great advice, well, except from the Colonel and I kinda expected that. Now, I just wait for the right time. At least, it's a start. I know I can't really say or do much til the war is over, it wouldn't be right to do that anyway, that's too much like making promises you don't know you can keep, and that's one of the things he said for sure not to do, but it's a start."}

And he listed to himself one more time so he'd be sure to remember it all: {"compliments, sincere ones; flowers, something simple; candlelight dinner with wine, but not too much wine; getting to know more about each other; a really nice goodnight kiss."}. He touched his lips thoughtfully, reliving that moment so he wouldn't forget just how it had been done. He did that again and again, til he knew he'd never forget, not ever. And he sighed deeply and rolled over and went to sleep, dreaming of putting all that good advice to work.

***  
Andrew was being sent to the Hauserhof to exchange information with the Underground contact, Karl Jergen. His meeting was at eleven, so Hogan, out of the goodness of his heart, let him go in early, right after evening rollcall, so he could see Berta, and had told him that he could stay a little after the meet, "it'll be good cover, you coming to see the girl! But don't let yourself get too distracted, and do NOT be late for rollcall!" Andrew had sat with Berta, spent some time, excused himself and met with the contact. Later he walked Berta home. He got back to the Barracks in plenty of time for morning rollcall, though, which was good since Klink was in no mood for nonsense, it seemed. He kept everyone busy with work details, inspections, lectures and all sorts of things, so it wasn't til after dinner the guys had a chance to talk.

"Things go alright then, Andrew?" Newkirk asked, getting a wide-eyed, "oh, yeah, no problem, just like I told the Colonel." Somehow, that wasn't what his team mate, ANY of his team mates were expecting.

"No, Andrew, he means with the girl. Did the advice help?" Kinch explained.

Andrew hung his head a little and muttered, "Oh, well, I decided not to use it just yet. I just bot her a drink, and then met our contact, and went back and walked her home and said goodnight. That's about all."

The men looked at each other, shaking their heads, thinking the same thing, {"poor sod struck out all around!"} And Peter wasn't so much in charity with the pretty blonde Berta, but kinda relieved all at once, which really annoyed him. He was used to being annoyed, he was, life and circumstances being what they were and giving him plenty of reasons to be annoyed, but usually he could figure out what he was annoyed about!

Andrew could tell Peter seemed a little upset; well, it wasn't like Peter was so good at hiding that, so he tried to distract him. If anyone could distract Peter Newkirk, it was Andrew Carter; often, of course, that distraction ended up with Newkirk bellowing at Carter, "Andrew, get in your bunk!", but still it was a distraction. Sometimes, in here, with everything bad that was happening, any distraction from that was good. Of course, Newkirk thought of it more as 'driving me to distraction!' which was perhaps a similar but different thing, though sometimes those lines blurred. Come to think of it, he'd used that term about Caeide any number of times too.

Now, though, Andrew just got Peter involved in showing him how to pick a side pocket, one more time, both of them laughing when he did it right and ended up with Kinch's lighter, and then, after checking to be sure Hogan was safely tucked away in his room with the door closed, coaxing him into telling one of his stories about Caeide and that year in London.

"Boy, that really must have been fun! You know how to do all kinds a neat stuff, and you're a really good teacher; I mean, you taught ME to do some of that stuff, so you HAVE to be, so she must have learned a whole lot, as smart as SHE is! Did you teach her to open safes too? And the stuff with the cards?"

And Peter, him also checking to see where Hogan was and whether he could easily hear what was being said, lost himself in the remembrances, telling them about the time he'd introduced her to Alfred Burke to learn about the big bank safes, and somehow Alfie had managed to lock Peter inside the one they were practicing on.

"After, when we were alone, I asked Alfie just what the bloody 'ell 'appened??! An expert 'e is, not some clumsy git that might just DO something like that by accident." Andrew flushed, but it didn't seem like Peter was directing that at him, so he relaxed again, listening.

"Tells me she just wasn't getting it, not making the connections, up 'ere," tapping the side of his head, "and coaching 'er and scolding 'er just wern't doing the trick, so 'e decided to give 'er more of an incentive. Figured if I was locked inside, especially with 'im telling 'er there wasn't all that much air in one of them safes, she'd get motivated! Apple and the stick, 'e says, with one Peter Newkirk playing the part of the apple AND the stick!"

He laughed, ruefully. "Not my best moment, mates; walls of that safe just kept coming in closer and closer, but I 'ave to say, she 'ad me out in double quick time, Alfie just standing back looking like a demented elf when that door swung open, chuckling to 'imself."

"Wow! That was mean!" Andrew said, and LeBeau, who was more than a little claustrophobic nodded in sincere agreement.

"Yeah, but it worked. Course, I wasn't the only one left just a bit sick; she looked like she might toss up 'er accounts any time. Came over and laid 'er 'ead up against me, shaking like a bloody leaf she was when I put my arm around 'er shoulders! Eyes like she'd just 'ad the nightmare of all nightmares! Pretty well done for the rest of the day, we both were, and both in need of a stiff drink or two after, and for once I didn't tell 'er No to the second one, especially beings I was already on my third! Still, got the job done, and she never 'esitated over one of those jobs again. Said she just kept picturing that first time, picturing me stuck inside, and it just came natural-like."

Kinch always liked the Caeide-stories; well, he'd liked the woman too, even if he found her more than a bit disconcerting, and really puzzled over her high opinion and complete acceptance of Peter Newkirk, considering what HE knew of the man and his multitude of shortcomings, and her letters brought a welcome relief, a vision of a world Kinch had never even imagined existing; he asked, getting caught up in the conversation, "and the cards? You taught her that too?"

"Sure, 'er and later one of 'er sisters and a couple of 'er brothers, some cousins too. Cards she was good at, but not great; wouldn't've made a living at it, but more cause she didn't 'ave that much interest; still, could sit 'er down at a game and be pretty sure she was gonna scoop the pot, less I was playing myself. Impersonations, now that was one a 'er strong points. Coo, got so I kept meeting 'er in one strange place after the other, 'er practicing, testing me at the same time; sometimes I'd spot 'er early on, sometimes it'd take awhile. At least twice, never DID catch on, not til she showed me up later."

He snickered and shook his head, "once, I'd spotted 'er right away, all rigged out as an old charwoman, not even all that good a job of it, right disappointed I was in 'er, slacking that way, you know? Walked up, chucked 'er under the chin with me fingers, and called 'er on it, telling 'er 'that's just TOO easy, now, luv!; next time put some effort into it,'; got me face slapped by the old woman for treatin 'er, talkin to 'er like she's some easy piece; turns out wasn't Caeide to begin with! SHE was over on the corner all decked out as a messenger lad. Thought she'd never stop laughing!" Everyone laughed right along with him, picturing his shock and embarrassment.

"Never met anyone with 'er range; old or young, uptown or slums, Bristol or Mayfair or East End, Liverpool, Irish, Scots, Welsh. Did a French emigree, real 'igh-tone, with a title and all, 'ad the toffs eatin outta 'er 'and at a big party I bet 'er she couldn't even get into, much less bring off through the whole evening! Put together 'er own clothes for that, she did, makeup, 'air and all. I went in as a waiter, so I could see it all, and she 'ad them in the palm of 'er 'and, right from the start, she did! More than one a those toff's wandering around town afterwards, looking for 'er, wanting to get to know 'er better, you know."

"Well, you do the different voices and accents and all, really great; bet that's where she learned to do it so good!" Andrew enthused.

"Well, I was of some use, I'll admit that, Andrew, but she 'ad a natural talent along those lines, so it came easy like."

Andrew was listening eagerly, "And the forgery? You do the documents and everything, and no one's ever caught on. Did you teach her that too?"

Peter smiled and gave a tiny hrummph, "and the forgery. Thought I was teaching 'er something she'd NOT 'ave a clue about, and in some ways that was true. I taught 'er the 'and and the eye. But what made it really work? What SHE 'ad was an ear." The others looked at each other, puzzled.

"See, I taught 'er 'ow to mimic the writing, the signatures, make it look just right, match the paper and ink and all. And maybe that's all that's needed on the documents, formal papers and such. But the personal stuff? SHE could read a few examples, as many as we could get, and the letters she'd write, wouldn't just be the 'andwriting that was right, it was the whole tone of the letter, the message, so that whoever was reading it, well, it would sound right, like it was coming from that person."

"Found a whole cache of letters in one of the resale shops, one person to another and back again over a period of time. She sat down and worked on those letters for a few days, and later gave them to me and Maude and Marisol to read. A full dozen new ones she'd popped in place, matched and aged the paper and all, and not a one could we spot as being outta place, sounded just right, all of them. We 'adn't read them up front, acourse; we'd 'ad my sister Mavis list out the original letters so's we'd 'ave something to check against. Mav didn't 'ave much to do with Caeide, wasn't real comfortable with 'er, but she did that much for us."

"After that, Maude pulled out a book she'd 'ad for ever so long; the bloke what wrote it died afore 'e could finish it, and they went ahead and published it as 'an unfinished work'. Well, Maude 'ad always liked it, enough she'd kept it over the years, but said she always wanted to know 'ow it was supposed to end, asked Caeide to give it a look see, tell 'er what really 'appened to all those people that'd just been left 'anging."

Newkirk paused again, and gave a laugh, "for 'olidays that year, Brat gave Maude a 'second volume', all bound just like the first, fully as long as the first too, and though I never read it, Maudie says 'im who wrote it would 'ave been proud to own up to it, and if it'd all been in one book and 'er not reading it before, she'd not 'ave been able to tell when one stopped and the other took up. In fact, Maudie asked the Brat, and when she said yes, took it to one of 'er friends, who knew someone who knew someone in the publishing line, and they ended up putting it in print as 'an unfinished work, completed, both the original and what she'd added - with the front piece giving some folderol about the 'author speaking from beyond the grave, not finding 'is proper rest til 'is book was complete'. Last I 'eard, it's still in print, with Caeide insisting Maudie get a full 'alf of the monies, (never much, mind, it being just an oddity), it being Maudie's idea and all, though a portion going to the estate of the bloke what wrote the first part, acourse."

"I mighta been a good teacher, Andrew, but she was a bloody good student. When she wasn't driving me bloody mad, anyway! There was one impersonation, you know, towards the end, thought she'd done for me for sure. Thought I'd lose my bloody mind, I was so mad! See, one evening she and Marisol . . ."

Hogan came out, reminded everyone they had a scam they needed to pull in the morning and that lights out was in just a few minutes, and everyone tucked up into their bunks. Peter was still smiling to himself, thinking back on all he'd been able to teach Caeide, all he'd learned while doing that teaching.

Andrew was smiling too, thinking it had been a highly successful evening. In addition to everything else, whenever Peter got to talking about Caeide and that year in London, Andrew learned all kinds of new things about Caeide, who he really, really liked from her letters and from when he'd actually met her, and usually, he learned new stuff about Peter too. Yeah, it had been a really good evening, considering where they were and all! And someday he'd have to get Peter to tell him that last story, the one about her and Marisol, the one that'd got him so 'bloody mad'.

***

"Well, 'ere I am again, in my very own 'ome away from 'ome," Newkirk sighed as he looked around the cold blank walls of the cooler cell he was to inhabit for the next week, thinking a bit of wallpaper would make a considerable difference in the appearance, what a nice thick carpet would do, and maybe some curtains at the barred window, plus a bit of glass acourse to keep the cold out, never mind a more civilized alternative to the open slops bucket in the corner, or at least a daily emptying.

"And while I'm wishing, might wish for a decent light and a stove and some wood to keep the icicles off. At least this time I remembered to nab my coat before they pulled me off; like to froze my arse off last time!" A week, a whole bloody week! And for what? Just that little bit of a diversion the Gov had needed for the switch at the gate. So, it got a little outta hand and the Kommandant had ended up being tossed head over keister. Not Peter's fault, now was it?

He looked back at the events of the afternoon, and had to grin rather sheepishly. {"Well, actually it was. Could 'ave dodged to the left when I 'ad a choice and missed the old sod totally, but where'd be the fun in that??!" The look on 'is face when 'e went flying, never mind when he LANDED! it was worth the week, no matter 'ow pissed the Gov was by the whole thing. Don't think 'e bot the 'accident' bit, either, no more than the old Iron Buzzard did!"}

The grin changed from sheepish to something a bit more grim, and his eyes had a hardness they'd not had before. {"Old sod, 'ope 'e enjoys 'is bruises; wouldn't be surprised if 'e did; maybe the Gov can rub some linament on them or something,"} but then resolutely turned his mind away from that subject and the other uncomfortable subjects that just naturally flowed from that, and went back to making his list of improvements his home away from home could use.

{"A more comfortable bed, acourse, nice thick mattress and warm blankets, maybe a velvet smoking jacket for me to change into; yeah, that'd be nice,"}and he snickered into the air of the near-empty cell, it having only brick walls, bare concrete floor and barred window with no glass, letting in the cold air, a hard bunk, one thin blanket and the small stool and table that concealed the trap door in the wall.

 

The trap door opened cautiously, "Hey, Peter, is the coast clear?" came as a faint whisper.

"Yeah, Andrew, come on through. Ole Schultzie did the last check a few minutes ago. I'm the sole inhabitant of this palace til morning, unless someone gets a wild 'air."

Newkirk was more than ready for some company; he'd counted the bricks in the walls three times over, but that was boring since he kept coming up with the same number each time - go figure! There were no roaches to play with, since it was too cold and they were all huddled together in some private place trying to stay warm, most likely, or maybe busy making baby roaches. {"Well, good luck to them at that, in either case! It'd be nice if SOMEONE was enjoying the evening!"} He staunchly refused to envy them either scenario, telling himself he was above that. There was a single overhead light showing in the anteroom, but it gave just enough light he could see the slight figure of the American crawling through the entry and standing up again.

"So, Andrew, 'ow's it going outside? Anything amusing going on?" and Andrew proceeded to perch next to him on the hard cot, his shoulder just touching, and fill him in on all the doings, amusing or not.

"And Langenscheidt was telling me how his sister is thinking about getting a puppy. I wish I could have a puppy. Did you ever have any pets, Peter? Do you like dogs or cats better, or maybe birds or fish?"

Peter, as always, was amused and slightly bewildered by Andrew's chatter, but even talking about the relative merits of birds or fish as pets was better than counting those bloody bricks a fourth time, enough he even teased Andrew by suggesting fish and birds weren't really pets so much as misplaced dinners. So he recounted the pets, or almost pets, he'd known, if not actually had himself, including the grey moggy at Maudie's pub, and the big rough coated red dog that had run around loose for awhile in the back alleys that had taken such a liking for him.

"Thought to introduce it to Caeide, thinking she'd like that, her having a fondness for animals, but seems never could get the two of them together. I'd thought she might like to take it 'ome with 'er when she left, those alleys not being a proper place for it, but didn't work out. Stopped seeing it after awhile; kinda 'oped it'd found a good place; likeable creature, for all of looking so rough, right affectionate it was."

He shook his head, and gave just a bit of a harsh laugh. "Pretty much saved my life, it did. Going through a real rough patch, 'ad a friend do 'imself, you know what I mean? Couldn't talk to any one about it, and it just kept pressing in." Andrew's eyes were huge and he nodded.

"We'd grown up together, were a lot alike. Guess I was starting to think 'e 'ad the right of it, might be the best for everyone; found myself wandering the alleys at night, carrying a bottle, making myself a target. Aint 'ealthy doing things like that, not in the East End. This red dog, bloody big one, shows up, keeps me company, scares off a few of those who might have given me my wish right enough. Ended up talking to IT, somehow, then, later. Made it easier to talk to Maudie about it later too; found out there was more to the whole thing than I knew; changed my mind about - well."

They seguey'd into a discussion of whether you could actually walk a cat on a leash, Peter not taking either side, but remarking that it had to be easier than walking a fish, to which Andrew gave a giggle and had to agree. They both considered it time well spent, those bricks not cooperating by shifting themselves around to provide him with more of a challenge, and they both had a smile on their face when Andrew headed back out the tunnel entrance.

Peter went to sleep chuckling, pulling his coat and that one thin blanket as closely around him as he could, with the vision of Andrew walking a cat and a fish down the street, both on a leash, escorted by a big red dog with a strangely familiar smile on its face. Andrew lay in his bunk, wishing he could have taken an extra blanket or two to Peter, but if the krauts had chanced to catch him with the extras, they'd not stop til they found out where they came from, so that just wasn't possible. He sighed, really wishing it had been, though. And he spent a few minutes thinking about that big red dog that had kept Peter from following his friend's example, and sent a little message of thanks winging its way over to Haven and its mistress.

The next night, Kinch came to visit, and they talked about football, and the differences between American and English style; it was a pleasant enough conversation and passed the time agreeably, though they never came to an agreement as to which was preferable, and really, you couldn't have expected them to.

LeBeau showed the third night, and they talked women, at length and with more accord than you might have imagined, women being the one thing French, other than LeBeau of course, that Newkirk didn't look at with disdain, and vice versa. They'd started off talking in general, then getting more specific, and ended up comparing and contrasting Marya and Caeide. Surprisingly, there was more they found in common between the two than you'd think, including the antipathy with which Hogan viewed them both, and somehow, neither was particularly surprised by that, neither lady being easily managed or particularly susceptable to the old 'Hogan charm', though Marya gave a good impression of the latter. They called it a night and each went to sleep, thinking about the lady in question, though not the same one, of course. 

Andrew was back the fourth night, all excited about something one of the guys passing through their little Travelers Aid Society had shown him, calling it 'origami'. Peter had no great interest, somehow missed the whole point as his attention wandered, but didn't ask for a clarification, just listened to the pleasant flow of Andrew's chattering, finding it surprisingly soothing. After Andrew left, he realized there was something on his bunk, and remembered the young man had spoken of 'one I just did'. He couldn't see it in the very dim light, just the outline, but he carefully picked it up and put it on the floor out of the way to keep it safe, thinking he'd take a good look when he could actually see it. In the morning light, he looked at it, now laying in his lap. A flower, a simple little thing but quite recognizable, made of folded paper, probably from a sheet of stationery from Klink's office.

{"Did a right good job of it too, 'e did,"} impressed in spite of himself, picking it up and looking at it from all different angles. It wasn't fancy, but there was no mistaking what it was alright. He tucked it safely under the bunk where it wouldn't get squashed and so no one would see and ask about it, reminding himself to take it with him when he finally got out of here, to put in his footlocker with his other little bits and bobs.

The Gov showed up on the fifth night for a few minutes, just checking to see how he was getting along, still more than a bit miffed, delivering stern admonitions not to pull such a silly stunt and get himself out of commission again, not to go out of his way to annoy Klink, and so on.

Somehow that visit wasn't as pleasing as the previous nights' visits had been, even, maybe especially, when the lecture was followed by the hard, bruising kiss and quick groping at the end, and Hogan's obviously fervent intentions, brought to a rapid halt when Schultz came by to spend some time talking away some of the boring hours he was on guard duty. Hogan had waited in the tunnel for a few minutes, but had headed back to his own quarters in disgust when it was obvious Schultze wasn't going anywhere; Schultz had settled on a bench in the anteroom, right next to the cell, and at Newkirk's whispered suggestion had opened the door so he and Newkirk could talk better.

Schultz was a bit surprised at how welcome the Englishman had made him feel, {"perhaps he is feeling as bored and alone as I feel tonight; it is good we can perhaps help each other pass the time,"} the older German Sergeant thought to himself. For his part, Newkirk laid on the hard bunk, listening to Schultz drone on and on about whatever, making an appropriate comment now and again to keep him going, and occasionally would take a glance over at the tunnel entrance. Somehow, he couldn't stop that satisfied smirk that would cross his face at those times.

He drifted off to sleep to the sound of gentle snores coming from the next room, and awoke in time to get Schultz back on his feet, gun back in his hand, before the change of the guards could catch him sleeping. They exchanged a companionable nod in parting. Thinking back, Newkirk felt the night could have been much worse, and made a mental note to slip old Schultzie a bit of something special when he got out.

The sixth night, Kinch was back again, but couldn't stay; he had to listen for a special message from London, but at least he dropped in to say Hi. Peter sighed and went back to counting the bricks, this time counting only every third brick, always counting the first in the row, discounting the last brick in every other row. That was more interesting, at least the first couple of times round. He laid awake a good portion of that night, which made the next day drag even more.

The last night, Andrew was back. "Hey, Peter! Louie fixed a really great supper! Here, see?" and he sat a tray on the bench that hid the trap door. "There's even a glass of wine! I saved mine, so we can eat together!" reaching back into the tunnel for a second tray.

He'd gotten some good natured teasing over that from the guys, and Louie had given him a very odd look indeed when he caught Andrew snitching that last little item from their stash, but hadn't said anything, for which Andrew was grateful. And Peter was thrilled for the company, and the food, although again being French, actually looked good enough to eat, at least in the very dim light of his cell, and the wine, well, he'd not been expecting that! So they sat, ate and talked very quietly, til Andrew said, "oh! I almost forgot!" and pulled something from his pocket.

"What's that, Andrew?" and then chuckled in amusement at the light from the tiny candle now stuck in wax on the table between them.

"Just thought it would be nice," Andrew grinned at him. They finished eating, talked some more, and then Andrew gathered the remains and headed back to the barracks.

He didn't return til much later, and waited in the tunnel til he heard that tiny snoring snuffle Newkirk serenaded them with nightly, at least those nights he was able to sleep. Andrew eased the trapdoor open and crept through. He looked down, remembering, remembering so many things, smiled a most curious smile, one quite different than his usual ones, nothing child-like in it at all, and leaned down and dropped one very soft, very gentle and the most tender possible kiss on that relaxed mouth, for just the right amount of time, and quickly eased his way back into the tunnel,drawing the door silently shut behind him.

Newkirk's eyelids fluttered open; he frowned, puzzled, and his fingertips touched his lips cautiously. "Been in 'ere too bloody long, started imagining things, I am!" and went back to sleep. For about five minutes.

When he awoke with a start, heart pounding, memories flooding into him like a dam breaking, remembered that conversation with Andrew about seduction, about getting 'close' to someone, all that advice given about the difference between treating someone like a tart, just good for a bit of a toss, and treating someone like they were important to you if they really were, all that had transpired since. He gulped, his eyes wide and staring into the darkness surrounding him. He reached down to feel that simple folded paper flower, stretched his arm out to touch the tiny bit of wax residue from that candle that had lit their dinner, reached his fingers back to trail over his lips.

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew!" he whispered into the night. In his mind he reluctantly compared the three kisses he'd experienced in the past couple of weeks; one, the kiss he had given Andrew, one the kiss he thought maybe Andrew had just given him, and lastly, the kiss Hogan had taken? Given? Well, whichever it had been. If there had been anyone watching, and if there had been light enough to see, the intensely thoughtful and serious look on his face would have been enough to give them pause.

Eventually, a smile came across those lips, "bloody 'ELL, Andrew!" and he shook his head, chuckled and rolled over onto his side, pulling his coat and that one thin blanket close to him, to get some sleep. And in the morning, that smile came again, remembering, maybe even understanding now, perhaps more than he really wanted to understand, but he'd never tried to knowingly be one to bury his head in the sand, at least not about most things.

{"Perhaps 'e was right, our Andrew; maybe I needed to be reminded. Our Andrew . . ."} and the look that accompanied that thought was surprisingly tender and wistful. And finally, the truth that he had been fighting for who knows how long, {"my Andrew."} And he thought of Caeide, and smiled again, knowing his Caeide would be just fine with this; she'd liked Andrew right off, he knew.

Back in the Barracks, Andrew crept into his bunk.

"Everything alright with Pierre?" came the quiet whisper from across the room.

"Yes, but it'll sure be good to have him back with us tomorrow."

"Well, maybe he learned something this time," came in a disgusted voice from the doorway where Hogan stood.

"Yeah, I sure hope so," came from Andrew Carter, his face turned so no one could see the sly grin on his face. He'd have to remember to tell Caeide about this; he though she'd be impressed! Yeah, Peter sure was a good teacher, alright!

And then his face changed, got stern, cold, a face no one there would have recognized as the Andrew Carter they knew, not in the least childlike and innocent, more that of an avenging angel, though minus the flaming sword of course, which was probably best since they were in a plywood and tarpaper building, so it was really good that he was enveloped in the shadows as he looked back at the door to Hogan's room, that vision returning, remembering what he'd seen, heard on those occasions.

And his thoughts were equally as stern, {"And Peter needed to remember some things too, that those things he said about how you treat someone if you care about them, well, they apply to him too, and I think maybe he might now. He may not be able to do anything about it right now, things being like they are and all, but he needs to KNOW!"}

And his face relaxed again, once again just Andrew Carter, and his fingers touching his lips, he smiled to himself, and drifted off to sleep. Yeah, he thought drowsily, Caeide would be really proud of him; he knew how she thought about things, at least where Peter was concerned, and after all, they were both pretty much in the same boat, him and her. Both wanting what was best for Peter, their Peter, their much beloved Peter.


End file.
